


A Way Forward

by Anonymous



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Ableism on Betazed, Betazoid popular culture, Difficult Parental Relationships, Gen, WB: Growing Up Half Betazoid on Betazed, headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 16:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30125358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Deanna Troi must consider her future as it becomes clear that she will never develop the abilities that mark her as a full adult in Betazoid society.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Worldbuilding Exchange 2021





	A Way Forward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weakinteraction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakinteraction/gifts).



> Thank you to my beta reader, who will be named after author reveals because I think that's what I'm supposed to do.

A daughter of the Fifth House must always be entirely self-aware and balanced, and always present herself with the grace and dignity of her station. Deanna Troi sat primly on the elegant brocade chair in the formal receiving room, hands folded neatly on her imported violet raw silk skirt, and tried not to cry.

It would make no difference to her dignity: Her mother was as aware of Deanna's emotional state as she was of her own, and the House Physician could dissect the flavors of anger and shame in her mind to the third decimal point. It would, however, not do to mar her carefully made-up face with tears.

 _Surely there is something more you can do for her!_ Lwaxana entreated, subvocal as usual. She only spoke aloud to address groups too large to capture with her powerful mental voice. Speaking aloud when one didn't have to was childish and undignified--as inappropriate in polite company as barking like a dog. At least Deanna had enough skill to participate in mental conversation as long as her partners could carry some of the load.

The House Physician explained yet again, gently but implacably. _Betazoids have children with humans not that infrequently. There have been thousands born over the last hundred years. Most show psionic profiles similar to Deanna's. Above-average overall sensitivity, with high bandwidth and range, coupled with resolution too low to easily resolve subvocal speech or shift into deeper levels of contact. I suggest you reconcile yourself to the situation as it stands._

 _Will she ever learn to shield properly?_ Her mother asked, clearly impatient. The development of full telepathic ability was the dividing line between childhood and adulthood. Without precision and control, Deanna would never be taken seriously. Her teachers, and her mother, would consider it perfectly acceptable to moderate her emotions for her so that others around her would be more comfortable, all the while insisting it was for her own good.

The physician frowned in Deanna's general direction. _She will require more practice than a full telepath, but in time I believe so._ Lwaxana's relief flowed over her, less uncomfortable than her frustration, but not exactly pleasant. She resolved that she would succeed at producing a shield that met her mother's exacting standards, and she would do so before the season turned, even if she had to spend all her free time in meditation and in testing her skill against the house staff. She fought the urge to drum her fingers against her knees.

Mother turned sharply toward her. _You may go, child, if we are boring you._

Her tone and the emotional wash behind it told Deanna that the correct response was not to escape, however much she might want to. _You know I'm not bored,_ she snapped. _Though maybe if you didn't talk about me as though I weren't here--_

 _Teenagers,_ her mother said, by way of apology to the house physician.

He accepted her words with a politic nod, though it was clear even to Deanna that he didn't approve of her mother's dismissal. _I am certain Deanna will be a credit to her House, Madame, despite her disability._

Mother whirled on the physician with sudden, mercurial anger. _I am not concerned about her status, Zyren, I want my daughter to be..._ Her voice trailed off on a wave of pain that brought tears pricking to Deanna's eyes. She dug her fingernails into her knees, heedless of the expensive fabric of her dress. The flow of emotion from her mother cut off suddenly, the last wisp of it an apology Deanna couldn't help but resent. _I don't want her to be at a disadvantage._

Deanna could no longer contain herself. She leapt to her feet and stalked to the door, throwing her words back over her shoulder. "If you didn't want me the way you knew I was going to turn out, why did you and Dad even have me?" The spoken words felt satisfyingly raw in her throat. She had enough presence of mind to give her hips a twitch to send her skirt swirling around her with the exact amount of contempt she intended, but as soon as she was around the corner and out of sight, she ran up to her room to shut herself in her walk-in closet, which was large enough to be a bedroom but small enough to feel like a sanctuary.

She flicked on the comconsole she kept balanced on a stack of old stuffed toys. "Ebretti Dyen," she told the machine. _Please pick up, please pick up,_ she thought, and a moment later Ebbi's face appeared on her screen. 

"Dee!" the slightly younger girl squealed, but then her expression deflated into exaggerated concern. "Dee, what happened? Are you okay? Did you get in trouble?"

Ebbi spoke the neighborhood patter, one of the thousands of private languages passed from older children to younger dating from before Betazed had been space-faring. The patter was homely and friendly but reminded her too much of her failure to become a proper adult, so she replied in the Federation Standard they all learned from their tutors. "No. Mother is just having a hard time accepting that I will never find my voice."

"Your mother, or you?"

"Maybe a little of both," Deanna admitted. "Ebbi, what am I going to do? I don't want people carrying me in every conversation I have for the rest of my life."

Ebbi made an exaggerated thinking face, even pinching her chin with her thumb for effect. Deanna smiled in spite of herself. " Court proceedings have to be conducted aloud. You could study the law. You're certainly smart enough. Think of it. Advocate Troi. No, better, Adjudicator Troi."

"Gods, save me from such a fate!" She threw herself back into a pile of folded laundry. Formerly folded laundry. Thinking about it, though, there were worse fates than studying law. She was good with words. Spoken and written, at least. Mother might find that an acceptable career, given that clearly she wasn't suited for the Fifth House's traditional diplomatic role. 

"It's too bad though. You'd have made a good Listener. Redactor even. You're a terrific listener, and you always know what to say when things need to be said."

"Well, that's not going to happen now. Betazoid Listening schools won't even look twice at me now." She clambered back upright so she and Ebbi could see each other. "Ebbi, is Advocacy going to want a half mind-blind apprentice either?"

"Oh, no! I hadn't thought. They might not--unless your mother pulled strings?"

Embarrassment, resentment, and something else uglier she didn't have a name for yet sent acid tendrils stinging up into her chest and throat. "I don't want Mother pulling strings for me. I want to earn my place, not have an apprenticeship gifted to me out of pity or because some guild wants the Fifth House to owe them a favor." She took a few breaths to steady herself, and Ebbi quietly waited on the other side of the screen without comment. "Maybe I'll go to Earth."

"What would you do there?"

 _Whatever I want_ , she thought, unrealistically she was sure, but the thought brought a little comfort anyway. The comconsole chirped, the tune signaling her mother was waiting for a response. "I have to take this. It's Mother," she said.

Ebbi nodded quickly, then her face on the screen was replaced by Deanna's mother's. "Deanna, please come downstairs. That lovely researcher you've been visiting with is here."

"Mother, I don't think I can do company right now," she told her.

"A daughter of the Fifth House can 'do company' whenever it is required. Now, don't keep Dr. Sapristos waiting."

"I'll be right there," she sighed, resigned.

She did not, quite, stomp down the stairs, though as soon as she caught sight of Dr. Sapristos a little happiness (relief?) fluttered up out of her foul mood and twitched up the corners of her mouth. A little. Mother, unfortunately, noticed and approved. Fortunately, she chose not to remark on it this time.

Dr. Sapristos looked from her to her mother and back. The human woman didn't catch the nuances of Betazoid silent communication, but her mother's artfully curated threads of emotion (welcome, gratitude, a touch of condescension) were apparent to all but the most stubbornly mind-blind humans. Deanna could shield well enough to keep herself and her companions safe, but couldn't shape her emotions into precision instruments of social maneuvering like her mother. 

Sapristos turned away from Deanna's mother to smile broadly at Deanna. "I thought we could take a walk and discuss the most recent lexicon you sent me. It's a lovely day."

The prospect of escape from the stifling house quickened Deanna's steps. She collected her wrap from the stand by the door and folded it over her arm, just in case. Dr. Sapristos got the door for her and they stepped out into the semi-public gardens shared by the Fifth House and the residents of the surrounding town. They passed a cluster of boys, five or six years old, chattering excitedly. It looked like they were racing beetles on the retaining wall. Sapristos took a seat on a bench nearby to take notes. 

After a couple of minutes, Sapristos muttered, "It's more than half Federation Standard."

"Most Betazoids under thirty are fluent in Standard," Deanna told her. "I looked it up."

Sapristos nodded. "Did you look up the percentages for older demographics?"

"The numbers fall steadily until you get to people over seventy, then they drop off a cliff," she said. "Twenty percent of Betazoids over seventy don't maintain a spoken language at all." she allowed herself to pout theatrically. "I'd guess that's why they put up all those opinion pieces on the nets about how intermarriage is destroying our culture."

Dr. Sapristos put down her stylus. "Racist nonsense. I'm sorry you have to deal with that."

"One of them mentioned me by name." She turned to stare back at the house. "I asked _her_ not to confront them."

Dr. Sapristos chuckled, but in sympathy not humor. "I think if someone attacked my marriage to my dead husband and suggested my daughter's existence was a threat to the planet I'd loyally served my whole life, I'd confront the hell out of them."

"I guess," Deanna allowed. "A lot of people here are never going to see me as an adult. I'll be in this inbetweeny nothing-space for the rest of my life. Not really a kid, but not really a capable adult either. A lot of girls my age already have their apprenticeships."

"I'm sure there are plenty of people who would jump at the chance to take you on."

"Not when they'll be inconvenienced every time they have to talk to me."

Dr. Sapristos didn't contradict her again. Didn't say anything at all for a few minutes, just quietly tapped notes onto her datapad until the little boys decamped to play elsewhere. She had that tight, puzzled, upset sort of feeling about her, a pinched compassion. "I meant to compliment you on your research, Deanna. You'll be getting an author credit when I publish next year," she offered, perhaps as a consolation, or maybe just to change the subject.

"Do you think," Deanna started to say, stopped herself, started again. "Do you think that an authorial credit in a Federation research journal will help me get an apprenticeship?"

"I'm not sure. You'd have to ask your mother that. I know it would help you get into Stanford." And that had the unmistakable feel of an offer.

"I'm not sure I want to study cultural anthropology."

Dr. Sapristos shook her head. "Their psych program is fantastic. And I know the faculty. I could put in a good word."

"It feels a little like quitting. Like I ought to stay just to prove myself." She sighed. "Mother would not approve." On the other hand, that wasn't necessarily a mark against the idea. "I'll think about it. In the meantime, do you want to head over to Melitta to get some more comparison data?"

"We could get some lunch at the little sushi place by the beach," Dr. Sapristos suggested by way of agreement.

Deanna walked beside the human woman, wondering if her offer was so tempting because she found her so much easier to talk to than adults from her own world, who had started to draw away from her in pity when it became clear she would never properly develop. The House Physician mentioned thousands of other hybrids like her. Mostly just empaths, like she was. Unusually powerful empaths, maybe, but still. Maybe she ought to think about learning how to help them fit in--or getting Betazed to fit them in. Would going to Earth be running toward something, or running away?

"Dr. Sapristos?"

"Mmm?" They were coming up on the bubble car station.

"I want to do something that matters. Mother's a diplomat. She brings whole planets together. You're preserving a piece of Betazoid culture. I don't want to fall into the space between and be just Lwaxana Troi's daughter."

"You're sixteen and you're marvelous already. You're brilliant, compassionate, and you work harder than any teenager I know. Trust yourself and give yourself time."

"I'll try."

Dr. Sapristos pulled her into a half-hug. "You'll do better than try."


End file.
